CHAPTER I
A SAD CHRISTMAS
Never had there been such a sensation since the day when Brownsville,Ohio, was first founded, as that which was experienced on the 23rd ofDecember, 1879, at the news that Mr. Partridge, the cashier at the bank,had absconded, and that a great number of valuable securities, and alarge sum of money, were missing. The first report indeed stated thatthe bank would have to suspend payment; but the panic caused by this wasspeedily allayed by the issue of a notice, signed by James Johnstone,President, to the effect that the loss, although heavy, would in nodegree affect the stability of the bank, that the assets were equal toall demands, and that the books had already been placed in the hands ofskilled accountants, who would before nightfall certify to thestability of the bank.
This did not, however, prevent a run taking place; but as all demandswere promptly met, and as at six o'clock in the afternoon a satisfactoryassurance as to the state of the bank, signed by the two accountants,was affixed to the doors, confidence was restored, and the people wereable to concentrate their attention upon the subject of the missingcashier. A few said that they had always suspected that something waswrong, but these were the people who are always wise after an event; themajority admitted frankly that there was nothing in William Partridge'santecedents or behaviour which would warrant a shadow of suspicion as tohis probity. He was not altogether a popular man, and was what thepeople of Brownsville called high in his notions; that is to say, he didnot care about mixing much in general society, being intimate only witha small circle of friends.
There was nothing indeed in Mr. Partridge's way of living which wouldnot have been warranted by the salary he was known to draw. He lived ina pretty house just outside the town, and certainly spent more moneythan his neighbours in keeping his garden bright with flowers but henever entertained on a large scale. His dinners were choice but small,he kept no equipage, and had no expensive tastes. His reputation indeedwas that of a somewhat retiring man with a higher degree of culture andeducation than most of his neighbours, with quiet and refined mannersand studious tastes. All these things, however, would not have preventedhim from being seized with the demon "speculation". For many anotherman, apparently as quiet and as refined, had ruined himself that way;and the verdict of Brownsville was unanimous that he must have becomeinvolved in some extensive speculations which had failed signally, andto bolster himself up must have taken the bank funds and securities,hoping to be able to replace them at the next turn of luck.
Everyone agreed that the greatest credit was due to the president, whosevigilance and astuteness had detected the defalcations before they hadreached a point which would have proved ruinous to the bank, itsshareholders, and depositors. Mr. James Johnstone had always been apopular personage in Brownsville, but he was never so popular as uponthis occasion. A deputation of shareholders and depositors waited uponhim to express their thanks for his vigilance and watchfulness; andalthough Mr. Johnstone did not say much he led them to understand thatthey had every reason to be grateful, for that things would very shortlyhave been in a very bad way had it not been for his interposition.
The president was a tall man, and just sufficiently inclined tostoutness to add to his appearance of respectability and solvency. Hewas smoothly shaven, and wore gold eye-glasses, and looked a directorevery inch. While his cashier never attended public gatherings onscientific, political, or sordid subjects, the president was always aprominent figure at them. He never, however, took a leading part oneither side, but appeared rather in the character of an arbitrator. Hisspeeches were always pleasing to both parties, throwing oil on thetroubled waters. He was a large subscriber to all the local charities,and although he himself belonged to the Baptist persuasion he made nodistinction between the various creeds in the distribution of his alms.Such being the case, when Brownsville once realized the fact that itsown savings were in no jeopardy, its sympathy with the banker for theannoyance and trouble that this occurrence would cause him became verygreat. The matter was discussed in all lights at every tea-table inBrownsville, and even formed the principal topic of conversation among anumber of young people who were preparing a school-room for thefestivities which were to take place on the following evening.
"What is to be done about Roland Partridge?" Lilla Fairfax, a girl ofsome sixteen years of age, asked during a pause in the buzz ofconversation.
"Of course he won't have the bad taste to show his face here," PercyJohnstone, the president's son, replied.
"I don't see that," Cissie White, a girl who had, however, taken no partin the conversation, but had been sitting in a corner, undisturbed,manufacturing wreaths, said warmly. "He is not to blame for the faultsof his father."
"Bravo, Cissie!" Percy Johnstone said in a sneering voice. "It is aswell that he should know what a valiant champion he has; but, you see,we have scriptural authority for saying that children must suffer forthe faults of their fathers."
"It was not meant in that way," the girl retorted, "and I think it verymean of you to talk so. I suppose you think because Roland Partridge isto suffer for the fault of his father that you are a great man becauseof the numerous virtues of yours."
There was a general laugh, for Percy Johnstone was known to give himselfairs to no inconsiderable extent on account of the social position ofthe banker. He coloured hotly at the reply and the laughter thatfollowed it, but found no answer ready at hand.
"But really," Lilla Fairfax said, "we ought to decide what we are to doabout Roland Partridge. I don't see that there is any necessity forquarrelling over it, but we have got to discuss it. It would not bequite pleasant, you know, for him to be coming amongst us just as ifnothing had happened. You would not like it yourself, Cissie."
"I should not like what?" Cissie White asked shortly.
"Well, you would not like to go out sleighing with him, for example."
"I should certainly go out sleighing with him if he asked me," Cissieanswered quietly. "Indeed he did ask me two days ago, and I said yes,and if he comes to fetch me I shall certainly go now."
"He is not likely to," Jane Simmonds, the eldest girl present, said.
"No, he is not likely to," Cissie agreed; "he has other things to thinkabout. I only say that if he does come I shall keep my engagement."
"Quite right, Cissie!" Tom Fernlea said heartily. "I like a friend whois a friend, not a mere fair-weather bird. There is no better fellowgoing than Roland. He may not be quite so brilliant as some fellows,"and he glanced at Percy, "and he does not go out of his own way to makehimself popular; but I prefer good, straightforward, earnest fellows,and I would almost back him against all Brownsville."
"There are a good many people," Percy Johnstone said coldly, "who wouldperhaps have said as much two days ago for his father. Perhaps you maychange your opinion one of these days."
"I am not likely to change my opinion of you, at any rate," Tom repliedhotly, "and that is a pretty strong one, I can tell you. Everyone knowsthat you never liked Roland, because he always beat you in class, and heis a better baseball player, and a better skater, and a better fellowall round than you are!"
"Oh dear, oh dear!" Lilla Fairfax exclaimed plaintively, "whatever areyou all quarrelling about? We have come here to make decorations forto-morrow, and the demon of discord seems to have entered in. I vote,girls, that the next person who quarrels, whoever he or she may be,shall be unanimously expelled from this society."
There was a chorus of assent. Jane Simmonds dexterously changed theconversation by asking whether the arrangements had quite been settledfor the programme of the following evening. It was easy, however, tosee, during the rest of the meeting, that less interest than usual wastaken in the various discussions, and that the thoughts of most of theyoung people were otherwise occupied. Little whispered conferences wenton before they broke up; the opinions of most of those present wereascertained, and were found to be pretty equally divided, as to theadvisability or otherwise of treating Roland Partridge just as if hisfather had still
been occupying the position of cashier at the bank.
While the conversation had been going on, the subject of it was pacingup and down the sitting-room at home discussing the matter with hismother. Roland had, a few days before, gone over to stay for a week withan uncle who lived some twenty miles away, and had that morning receiveda telegram from his mother begging him to return at once, and it was notuntil he reached home in the evening that he heard the terrible news.
"But it is impossible, mother, absolutely impossible, that my father canhave done this thing!"
"That is what I say, Roland. Your father is the last man in the world todo such a thing."
"He never speculated, as far as you know, mother?"
"No, Roland, I am quite sure that he didn't. He was quite contented withhis position. He wanted nothing more; and I have often heard him saythat no one connected with a bank had any right whatever to engage inbusiness outside it."
"But what did he say, mother? Surely he must have said something when heleft you last night?"
"He came in about half-past nine, Roland. He has been staying late atthe bank this week making up the books. He was as pale as death. Hislips were trembling, and he could hardly speak. When I begged him totell me what was the matter with him, he said, as nearly as I canremember his words: 'A terrible thing has happened, and I must go awayat once. The bank has been robbed!'"
"'But what has that to do with you, William?' I asked. 'I am accused ofdoing it,' he said. I almost laughed, it seemed so absurd. But he wenton: 'Appearances are terribly against me. It is all a mystery to me. Butif I stay I shall be arrested to-morrow morning, and surely condemned,and I could not stand it. It would kill me. I must go. There is no otherway. I will write to you and tell you what to do when I can think itover. But I can't think now.' He was in such a nervous state that it wasuseless to speak to him; and, indeed, I was so stunned with the newsmyself that I could think of nothing. I did say: 'It would be far betterfor you to stay, William, and face it out. Your innocence is sure to beproved.' But he only shook his head, and repeated, 'I must go.'
"So I hurried to get a few things together for him, and the moment thatI had done so he was off to catch the train. I don't think he was fiveminutes in the house altogether, and it was not till he had gone that Iwas able to think clearly what had happened."
"I am not blaming you, mother dear," Roland said tenderly. "But it ismost unfortunate that father should have acted as he did. You and I knowperfectly well that he is innocent, but his running away will, ofcourse, convince everyone else that he is guilty. It would have been athousand times better to have braved it out, however strong thecircumstances might be that point against him."
"So I think, of course, Roland. But you know what your father is, andnaturally I understand him even better than you do. You have only knownhim since he was prosperous and respected here; but in the early days ofour marriage, when he was still a struggling young man, I learnt, I willnot say the faults, my son, but the weaknesses of his character. He is,as you know, a man of strict, nay, of extreme, honour and integrity. Buthe is sensitive almost to a fault. He has no self-assertion and verylittle self-confidence. He is just the man, in fact, to bend before astorm rather than brave it; and although I may greatly lament it, I amnot a bit surprised that, when suddenly confronted with such a terribleaccusation as this, and seeing, as he says, that circumstances arealtogether against him, he should abandon the field without a strugglerather than face the storm of public obloquy and indignation."
Roland was silent. He knew how his father shrunk from anything like apublic turmoil, and how easily upset he was by trifles which anotherwould scarcely have noticed; and although he had never acknowledged asmuch to himself, he had even when much younger been vaguely consciousthat his father was lacking in force of character. There was adisinclination to find fault, a shrinking from unpleasantness, and anavoidance even of argument; a desire that everything should go on withclock-like regularity, and that nothing should disturb the even tenor oflife, which seemed to show a constitutional avoidance of effort orstruggle. Still, as Roland had, as his mother said, only seen his fatherunder circumstances of ease and comfort, he could not tell how far thiswas an innate defect in his character until it now showed itself sodisastrously.
"You don't know where he has gone to, mother?" he said at length;"because, if you have the slightest idea as to the locality, I willstart at once to try and find him, and to persuade him to return,whatever the circumstances may be against him. It would be a thousandtimes better to brave it out than, by running away, to make what cannotbut appear a tacit confession of guilt. And now, mother dear, what doyou intend to do?"
"That is what I was wanting to talk to you about, Roland. It seems to methat the best thing to do will be to give up our house at once, and tosell the furniture; and then, in the meantime, if I do not hear fromyour father, to move right away to some place where we shall not beknown, and where I can earn a little money by my needle, and you perhapscan obtain a situation of some sort."
"No, mother," Roland said decidedly. "I quite agree with you as togiving up the house and selling the furniture, but go away we will not.Father may have given up the battle in despair, but I shall stay andfight it out. We know that he did not take this money--it is for me tofind out who did so. If we go away the matter can never be cleared up;so long as we remain here there is a chance of our striking on some clueor other."
"It will be dreadful," Mrs. Partridge began.
"It will be horribly painful," Roland agreed. "Awful to have to meet allyour old friends and know that they regard one as the son of a swindler.But it has to be done, mother, for only so can we hope to prove thatfather is an honest man. But I don't ask you to stay, mother. I am quitesure that uncle will be glad for you to go and live with him at thefarm. He was saying only yesterday that it had been a dull life for himsince aunt had gone."
"No, my boy, I could not do that," Mrs. Partridge said. "I could notleave you here to bear the burden alone."
"Don't think me unkind, mother, when I say I would rather that youwould. I think I could bear the changed faces of old friends so long asthe slights affect only myself, but I should suffer ten times more inseeing you suffer. Therefore, mother, I do think that my plan is thebest. I hope that it will not be for very long; but till matters aremade clear it will be best for you to stay with uncle, and I could runover from time to time to see you and tell you how I am getting on."
"At any rate, Roland, there is no occasion to decide for a few days. Thefirst thing to do is to get rid of the house and sell the furniture.When that is done, we can talk matters over again."
The next morning Roland called upon their landlord and asked him if hewould take the house off their hands at once. This the landlordwillingly agreed to do, and was indeed well pleased with theproposition. He had already been wondering how Mrs. Partridge intendedto manage. The lease had still two years to run, but he did not see howshe would be able to pay her rent. He had that morning received anapplication from a gentleman who was willing to take the house if hecould obtain possession at once, and Roland's proposal to move out atthe end of a week exactly suited him. After settling this matter Rolandwent to an auctioneer, and arranged that notice should at once be issuedof the immediate sale of the furniture. He returned home well pleasedwith the success of his mission.
"As far as I am concerned, mother, I think things will be better than Iexpected. I see there is a difference of opinion in Brownsville. I havemet several people we know well this morning. Some of them just gave mea nod, as much as to say, we see you, but don't want to speak to you.Others nodded, as if they would have liked to have stopped and chattedwith me, but were rather afraid to do so; while Tom Fernlea and twoother fellows came up and shook hands just as heartily as usual, andasked when I came back from uncle's, what I had been doing, and so on,as if nothing had happened. At any rate, mother, a thing like this givesone an opportunity of finding out which of your friends are worth havingand which are n
ot."
There was a certain indication of bitterness in his tone, and his motherlooked at him a little anxiously. "You will not get cynical, I hope,Roland, my dear boy. You must remember that a vast number of people actquite as much in accordance with what they think other people will do,as with their own convictions. We are all apt to be guided by theopinions of the world; and though it seems hard that the sins of parentsshould in any degree be visited upon their children, we must rememberthat children get the benefit the other way. If a boy or a girl's fatheris a rich and popular man, they will be made more of than when not sosituated. Of course this is wrong, and everyone should be judged bythemselves, and no doubt that eventually is the case. Of course if onewhom we believed to be a true friend fell away at a time of trial, itwould be a proof that his friendship was not a true one; but we must notbe surprised if any mere acquaintances go with the stream, whatever itsdirection may be."
"You are becoming quite a philosopher, little mother," Roland laughed."At any rate, as I said, things are better than I expected. Of course itis no good doing anything for the next day or two;" and a shade passedover Roland's face as he thought how widely his Christmas day woulddiffer from his anticipations of it; "but next week I will go round andsee if I can get something to do. I am not particular what it is, aslong as it enables me to stay at Brownsville."